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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25826374">Icarus Descending</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dadbeat/pseuds/Dadbeat'>Dadbeat</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XIV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon character death? we don't know her, Everyone is really unhappy in my hc i'm sorry, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Fix-It, M/M, Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal Spoilers, Referenced anal sex in a super metaphorical way, initially takes place post 5.2 but pre 5.3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:35:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,806</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25826374</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dadbeat/pseuds/Dadbeat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Legends tell of a man who flew too close to the sun, thus sending him spiralling to his doom in the sea. It is fortunate, then, that the Warrior of Light can breathe underwater.</p><p>mWoL Emet/Elidibus/WoL Fix-it headcanon for 5.3 and beyond.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Elidibus/Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Elidibus/Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Splash</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Please help I have a problem and it's WoL/Emet/Elidibus OT3</p><p>This is probably going to get expanded with smut, if I'm being honest. Please look forward to it?<br/>First chapter now canon-complaint with awol title/nomenclature because I am S L O W and forgetful.</p><p>A preemptive thank you to all the Convocation but especially Shesha and Chie you are terrible enablers and I love you for it</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Elidibus is better than Emet-Selch at remaining hidden, Altruoix quickly finds.</p><p><em> It's such an incongruous thing, </em> he thinks, upon realization that the man draped in Ardbert was actively observing him. <em> Emet-Selch fit in so much easier into a crowd, and yet-- </em></p><p>The second, more awful, realization hits then, that Emet-Selch had, in truth, revealed himself <em> deliberately </em> to Altruoix.</p><p>He'd wanted to be found. Wanted desperately to be noticed, clinging to that scrap of final hope that perhaps Altruoix would turn, his eyes meeting the ascian's with a smile on his face and a long forgotten name slipping from his tongue.</p><p>He'd never had a chance. Altruoix had fallen, light bleeding from his splintering soul and so too had Emet-Selch's heart finally broken.</p><p>Every opportunity, every hint, every rustle of robes and quiet chuckle that had made the Warrior spin 'round, weapon ready.<br/>Each shared touch, each foreign syllable from kiss-torn lips.<br/>Spires gleaming in the murk from the light of sputtering lamps.</p><p>He'd wanted Altruoix so badly to understand. So badly to <em> know </em>.</p><p>Muscle memory carries him through his final combat exercises this night as his mind spirals downward. Like a moth he cannot help but light himself aflame in the regrets that burn a constant votive. By the time he drags himself away the dummy is in pieces, each distracted spike hitting it harder and harder until he's attacking open air.</p><p>From the second floor Elidibus still watches. What must the ascian think of him? </p><p>Shattered, scattered kindling lies at his feet. <br/>So do Nabriales, Igeyorhm, Lahabrea, Emet-Selch.</p><p>Long fingers press delicately to his mouth. Fighting the tide of rising bile he thinks hard of Musosai, forcing his mind blank, centered - and thank the gods, by the old man's grace the choral screams scatter, blending back into static noise. </p><p>Not daring to yet look up he instead wishes desperately that he wasn't cut off from the comforting promise of his always-open tab at the Wandering Stairs by the one person he absolutely may not face in this state.</p><p>But then, he's made it practically his specialty to do impossible things, hasn't he?</p><p>He drops the training blade, looks up at the wrought iron stairs. Elidibus doesn't bother to hide himself when their eyes meet. </p><p>Ardbert's lids are dropped low, mouth curve down in a crescent. It's a stare of contempt - or perhaps, contemplation. </p><p>Altruoix forces one foot to move, then the other, resolve hardening as scenarios play through his head, possibilities narrowed and parameters aligning.<br/>He is unarmed. Elidibus is not.<br/>Still, he is unlikely to be attacked here. The ascian has had plenty of opportunity to strike, yet has not. <br/>The parts they lead will lead them to a conflict inevitable - but not tonight.<br/>Not yet.</p><p>He passes Elidibus. Lets out an anxious breath.</p><p>Then stops.</p><p>From the corner of his eye, borrowed flesh stirs. Lips move to deliver sound, a hand raised into a fist, awaiting his touch--</p><p>
  <em> Don’t make a choice that leaves you alone. </em>
</p><p>Damn his sentimentality. Damn this foolish notion. Damn him, damn him, just <em> go to the stairs, move, </em> <b> <em>please</em> </b> .<br/>With no one but himself to hear, no one but himself to blame, traitorous mind and body act as one. A foreign curse passes Elidibus, bounces off blue-flecked flagstones.</p><p>Digging into a coat pocket Altruoix procures a small bottle. Uncaps it. Throws the contents back.</p><p>Hells. He can’t escape Ardbert even now - even when it’s a simulacrum. His voice rings in his ears, resonates in his soul. </p><p><br/>“I’d, ah, ask you if you wanted something, but…” He leans against the railing, turning the bottle upside down and shaking it for emphasis. “Sorry. I’m not good at any of this.”</p><p>
  <em> Fast, but always a moment too late. Smart, but kept hopelessly ignorant. Strong, but only used as a bludgeon. </em>
</p><p>“Is there a reason you are here?” Elidibus’s hostility scrapes at the edges of memory, leaving red welts across his fractured psyche. <em> Remember Us. </em></p><p>“Could ask you the same thing.” Altruoix’s already opening a second container - this time, a flask. “Was I supposed to just let you stare at me all night? Turn my back to you, so you could take me out?”</p><p>Elidibus says nothing, merely looking on as the Warrior gets drunker, slumps a little lower. Clearly he’s been chosen for his battle prowess, not an ability to cope. He lets the scars show, bare arms gnarled in spirals while his countenance flutters in distress. There's nothing to prove to the last Unsundered. No expectations to be met.</p><p>“...Might be easier if I did, though.” </p><p>As he finishes the flask Altruoix finally gives his body respite from his earlier exertions. Allowing himself to slide down to a sitting position he isn’t looking at Elidibus anymore, content instead to watch the moon rise as the familiar fuzz takes his mind.</p><p>“Nice, even.”</p><p>Quickly, quietly. Before he could think too much of what he’d leave behind, before he could form regrets for things undone. </p><p>Just him here, in this moment, staring at the sky as he drifts away.</p><p>Perhaps Emet-Selch would be cross at him. But he thinks the man would understand.</p><p>It’s an all-too-brief fancy. People like him don’t get to go out gently into the night. They fight until they have no strength to stand, die choking as their lungs fill with blood, as their viscera spills across a battlefield. As their head rolls from an executioner’s blade. <br/>And if it weren’t so, would Hydaelyn <em> allow </em> him any other way?</p><p>“I wouldn’t deserve the kindness.”</p><p>Elidibus holds no love for him. They both know he does little more than wetwork for a glorified primal. Such forgiveness or mercy is far beyond him. <br/>Still, it wouldn’t hurt to try, if only to assuage his crippling guilt for just a moment.</p><p>“No.” The disdain is evident on Elidibus’s face. This entire farce is below him. “You would not.”</p><p>“Didn’t deserve it when Emet-Selch let me grace his bed, either. Or when even at the end, in Amaurot--”<br/><br/>“Do not presume,” Elidibus’s voice is clearly pained, “to speak of his motives, or his transgress--”</p><p>“He made it for me, you know.” The words tumble out before he can stop himself. It's been on his mind all night from the moment he'd perceived the Emissary. “So I had someplace to turn. Someplace comfortable.”</p><p>
  <em> Someplace familiar. </em>
</p><p>Ardbert’s borrowed jaw clenches. </p><p>All for him. All for him. All for him.<br/><em> Look, learn, and remember.<br/></em>“He erred because he loved me.”</p><p>Drawing up his legs Altruoix’s face finally crumples, eyes wide and wet as tears finally spill down his cheeks. He buries his face in his knees, form trembling as he sobs, long and breathy and low.</p><p>He hadn’t known what else to do. He still doesn’t. The parts they play will lead to conflict inevitable but every fiber of his being, every piece of his rejoined soul will be utterly undone if he must stay this course.</p><p>He cannot slay Elidibus. Cannot end the ascians.</p><p>But neither can he deviate, can he? He must protect this world, too. In the morning, Ryne and Gaia will wake up and go for coffee biscuits. The Scions will rise, working and waiting to go home. This world, the source, the fate of them all rests upon his fulcrum.</p><p>This is one impossible task he cannot overcome - not as things are now.</p><p>Above him Elidibus stands, shadowless and still. What few guises of humanity he’s maintained have dropped as he regards Altruoix from the corners of his eyes. He catalogs the Warrior’s new info, brow furrowed as if working through a particularly complicated puzzle.</p><p>Altruoix’s sobs have long quieted to whimpers when he finally moves. With an almost agonizing slowness Elidibus undoes Ardbert’s gauntlets, leaving his hands bare. Brushing back loose strands of silver he grabs ahold of Altruoix’s chin, turns it towards him to regard gold rimmed in blotched red, smearing a thumb through tear tracks still damp.</p><p>“Permit me this indulgence,” he says, as violet wreathes him in glory, the mundane smothered beneath the surging being playing at mortal finally revealed. Darkness curls at the edge of Altruoix’s consciousness, serpents coiling to strike. He doesn’t fight back when they do.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><em> Aether spirals from outstretched fingertips as he eagerly explains to his audience of one what he knows. What he </em> <b> <em>understands</em> </b> <em> , as they look on in awe-- </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> &lt;&lt;Go home.&gt;&gt; Chimes click in consternation as his glorified babysitter stands, arms crossed in his office. &lt;&lt;He’s waiting for you - and before you ask, I will know if you’ve shacked up in Lahabrea’s office-- </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> &lt;&lt;You can't.&gt;&gt; </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The petulance does little to hide the waver in his voice, fingers stained with ink smudging the cowl pulled low with the force with which he grabs it. &lt;&lt;It's Wrong, the results are!--&gt;&gt; </em>
</p><p><em> &lt;&lt;--And what else would you have me do? We are out of time. This is the only way.&gt;&gt; Maddeningly calm, even now. As if Elidibus didn't understand how he worked, as if he was </em> <b> <em>ignorant</em> </b> <em> of the dangers of disregarding his counsel! He wasn't some halfwit student at the Akademia, playing devil's advocate with their concept, he was their <strong>Shepherd</strong></em><em>and Elidibus his friend! He… </em></p><p>
  <em> The petulance turns heated, hands weaving through the air and aether to draw, to demonstrate. Mayhaps if he rewords it, shows it in a slightly different way, he can make him understand. But before he even starts Elidibus waves it away with a hand of his own. </em>
</p><p><em> There's a shriek of rage and grief as Euclid sees red. He grabs those white robes once more, and the man is </em> <b> <em>shaken</em> </b> <em> to and fro. It lasts only a moment - with a grace worthy of his station Elidibus breaks free, throwing Euclid backwards into his desk and scattering the papers stacked there. </em></p><p>
  <em> The shock of form hitting wood sends him back to sense. He leans on the desk, panting between hiccups. </em>
</p><p><em> &lt;&lt;---------.&gt;&gt; Deep fatigue colors his words. He's tried so hard. He's told them again and again and again. Said it, screamed it - he doesn't know what else to do anymore except beg for it. &lt;&lt;Please. Just-- you </em> <b> <em>can't</em> </b> <em> .&gt;&gt; </em></p><p>
  <em> &lt;&lt; <strong>---m</strong></em>
  
  <em>.&gt;&gt; Euclid's jaw clicks shut. He wipes his face, leaving small smears of grey beneath his eyes. </em>
</p><p><em> &lt;&lt;You have no authority over my station, nor any matters concerning my person.&gt;&gt; Moonlight glints harshly from behind his mask. &lt;&lt;You would do well to remember your position, its obligations - and its </em> <b> <em>limits</em> </b> <em> .&gt;&gt;  </em></p><p>
  <em> Euclid does not try to make him stay when he turns to exit.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> &lt;&lt;You are expected at our next meeting. Until then.&gt;&gt; </em>
</p><p>
  <em> In his empty office, Euclid curls beneath his robes and keens a funeral dirge. </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p> </p><p>Altruoix comes to with his head in Ardbert’s - no, Elidibus’s - lap. His touch has turned gentle but unsure, one hand hovering above Altruoix’s chest. So the Warrior pulls it down, letting it feel the steady thrum of his heart.</p><p>“You were dear to him.” It’s not phrased as a question, so he doesn’t expect an answer - and doesn’t get one. “You <em> must </em> have been.”</p><p>The weight of who Elidibus is, <em> what </em> Elidibus is sits so much heavier than the mere hand upon him would suggest. In his woeful incompleteness Altruoix struggles to conceptualize the utter <em> horror </em> of what it had meant to who he was Before. </p><p>But if he concentrates, he can pick out fragments of it, like shrapnel embedded in his soul. </p><p>They are both dead men, now. Dead and playing in the ashes of their world until the curtain falls upon it, destined to clash through no faults of their own.</p><p>The Dark that Is Elidibus ripples. It touches Altruoix still, oil streaked across the pond of his being. Perhaps it’s an offering. Perhaps just an oversight. It doesn’t matter. Altruoix rises from the depths, extends a hand. </p><p>“You still are.” Mouthed, near inaudible. His hand holds the darkness in his grip. </p><p>He’d tried to run away before, to carve his own path away from what was set for him. It’d failed miserably. He hadn’t known of the chain wrapped ‘round his arms, entangling his feet. </p><p>It’s left him perilously close to true death, a spirit sapped of the will to carry on. He’s so tired of bloodletting, tired of wars. Tired of fighting for a god that he’d never liked in the first place.</p><p>But he is not yet empty. Elidibus looks down at him with the wrong eyes and the wrong face and the absolute <em> indignity </em>of what they’ve endured spurs Altruoix on more than any tempering could.</p><p>With one final burst of stubbornness, he feels the chains slip.</p><p>They’ll run together, this time. Escape for good, no matter what.</p><p>
  <em> “For those we can yet save.” </em>
</p><p>The hold is returned. The Dark gives a tentative squeeze. They plunge beneath the surface.</p><p> </p><p>Altruoix remains on the Crystarium’s upper level long after Elidibus takes his leave, clutching that unspoken promise. A half-remembered name dances starlight across his tongue. The rush of those few foreign syllables leaves him giddy, despite no less uncertainties than before.</p><p>
  <em> What do the dead have to fear from the future? </em>
</p><p>He would know what to do, when the time was right. He is sure of it.</p><p>First light comes, and for once Altruoix greets it - with a smile.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Sink</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>He does not fly too close to the sun. He IS the sun. And so he shines in the bottom of the depths.</p><p>(one chance to right this wrong. Altruoix takes it.)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>5.3: we've decided to end your other fave<br/>me: i've taken your canon under consideration and have decided to discard it</p><p>sooo uhhh this is a fix it fic now i guess. my story now. i am freeeeee</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first strike hits, hurts - but nothing can compare to the phantom pangs of betrayal spiking through his chest. That no matter how hard he’d tried, how far he’d reached out, that they had still come to this. </p><p>
  <em> You promised. </em>
</p><p>Such words meant little to a sieve. Elidibus trickles away from Altruoix like so many grains of sand and he cannot possibly stop the bleed. It had only been some weeks, yet he’d already forgotten. </p><p>Even in death, they are cursed.</p><p>Altruoix moves with an automatic ease borne of ceaseless violence. The blade drops and he parries, ignorant to the wounds inflicted by summoned magics as his own rally round him soothing his hurts so that he may carry on as he always has. </p><p>And wasn’t that the rub? </p><p>It’s all so obvious, now. Memories of the damned left to the damned, awareness bestowed only to drive the knife deeper, incapacitate him further with grief. The stones heavy in his pocket are a poor substitute for the stars he’s blotted out.</p><p>The sorries mean nothing after a thousand apologies. How much regret can there truly be, if he keeps doing this?</p><p>No wonder Elidibus does not hesitate. He cannot, lest the sky go fully dark. </p><p>But he does hold back.</p><p>Once Altruoix adjusts to the power of the blows, his mind free to wander just enough, he notices. A split second opening left unexploited; the punch of a shield swipe pulled; hits meant only to rattle rather than crush; he is left wondering if this is still a test, or if Elidibus is losing his combat memory, too.</p><p>Only after Bahamut roars across the battlefield and he steps out of light into a constricting snare of shadow does he get the answer.</p><p>Elidibus was <em> toying </em> with him - each cut retribution for his crimes. And as the trap tightens, limbs pinned through futile struggle, Altruoix knows it is over. </p><p>The ground beneath him tears asunder. With a roar of organs, the world disappears.</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>"Do you remember when I first found you?"</p><p>Ardbert stands on nothingness, a phantom hand tugging at their binds. <br/>Altruoix follows his movements, but he daren't reply. The Rift burns against his senses, its miasma breaching self to ignite his insides. Each wave of agony leeches aether from him, life pulled away into bleak nothingness. </p><p>There will be naught for his friends to remember him by, with him left between worlds to die. His existence unraveled in a moment of poetic justice.</p><p>"I could hardly remember myself. Not even my name. But still I was drawn to you."</p><p>Having Ardbert - the true one, the facet of his own soul glimmering cut with the First's tribulations yet still slotting perfectly within full self - here is more than Altruoix deserves. His warm flame is an impossible comfort in the night desert of the Rift. </p><p>"...They're villains." Ardbert has little sympathy for those who would end his world. Altruoix understands. But here at the moment of his death he cannot help but look across the scattered shards of crystal, the pulverized dust of their world left languishing from Hydaelyn's blow - and recognize the cruelty of the ascians' position.</p><p>The entirety of the Ancients, reduced to three. Left to inhabit the nothingness between as their very home was usurped from them.</p><p><em> It's wrong, </em> a part of him old and deep hisses, <em> wr</em><em>ong wrong wrong wrong </em> <b> <em>Wrong</em> </b> <em> . Reality cannot, existence Cannot--! </em></p><p>"They're villains, but even a villain deserves to remember what they fight for. Who they love." The parallels aren't lost on them, having been drawn to that precipice not-so-long-ago. Reduced to instinct, drawn to a call they cannot replace for loved ones they cannot recall.</p><p>Surely, remembering is cruel. But far worse, to forget.</p><p>There's another warmth at his breast now. Dawn across desolation, Azem's crystal thrumming in time with his pulse.</p><p>"If you could take," Altruoix's numb fingers fumble to wrap themselves around the shape, "one more step-"</p><p>"-Would I do it?" Ardbert finishes, his face twisting into a rueful smile. </p><p>"For them?"</p><p>"It's a rotten existence." Blue eyes stare wearily at the fading figure limp in chains. Altruoix barks out a laugh. Neither of them know if they talk of the ascians or themselves.</p><p>"But you're not one to leave tasks undone - and neither am I."</p><p>In their time of greatest need.</p><p>
  <em> We always finished what we started. </em>
</p><p>A wish, gasped from blue lips into the Beyond. <br/>They cannot pull Elidibus from the abyss if they are lost, can they?</p><p>Sight fails. A kiss is pressed to the ember in their palm.</p><p>
  <em> once more. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>.</p><p>..</p><p>...</p><p>
  <em> &lt;&lt;Tch.&gt;&gt; </em>
</p><p>Gilt gaze, gilt claws flare to life from nothingness.</p><p>
  <em> &lt;&lt;Did you forget how to whistle?&gt;&gt; </em>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Altruoix does not recall how he is plucked from the Rift's hold - from the sleep of death to choking, violent life. Only that there is pain to peace to pain again, retching blood phlegm and aether at his savior's feet. A river swirls around their ankles - and his, carrying away the remnants of his brush with oblivion.</p><p>The touch that cradles him is a thousand dusty tomes of long-lost knowledge, the cracked leather of a library chair creaking beneath as Altruoix shifts to better see in the light of a single candle. Thunder rumbling in the distance rattles an open window. It will rain, soon.</p><p>
  <em> Surely, he has perished to feel this. </em>
</p><p>Ancient syllables form slowly, crudely. Enunciated as if a child learning to speak.</p><p>
  <em> &lt;&lt;Well, it seems you have not yet lost your voice! Though I would have taken your silence for thanks, generous as I am.&gt;&gt; </em>
</p><p>Altruoix dares not to open his eyes at first, for fear the man might dissipate. Merely hauls himself up by the folds in Hades's robes to gasp greedily against a mouth half through its diatribe.</p><p>He's <em> real </em>. Impossibly whole. Impossibly free.</p><p><em> &lt;&lt;Come, now.&gt;&gt; </em> Chimes woven between the desperate knocking of teeth. Ichor leaks from lips bitten in haste to claim that which was thought long lost. <em> &lt;&lt;The parlor tricks of shattered creatures hold no sway over the eternal.&gt;&gt; </em></p><p>Half-truths upon half-truths. Altruoix's aim had been true. Cleaving Zodiark's touch, no parlor trick. So too had Emet-Selch's survival been assured. </p><p>"Cheeky fuck." Altruoix manages. He finally looks. Sees Hades - <em> truly </em> Hades, stripped of the fascinations of emperor and primal servant both, triumphant. His eyebrow lifts, smiling catlike at the backhanded compliment.</p><p><em> Incurably smug as ever, and resilient like a cockroach, </em> supplies that old voice. It harumphs, at first, but the noise quickly turns to a fond chuckle.<br/><em> Dusk to my dawn. </em> Reverent, now. Slanted sunbeams on a spring day. <em> Keeper of my hearth. </em></p><p>“Stupidly beautiful, complete <em> ass </em> of an ascian, I--” <br/>He goes for his mouth once more. Drinks in what he can while still riding high, flush with adrenaline and relief at both their near misses. He cannot manage anger at Emet-Selch's deception - at least, not yet - so he takes advantage while there’s still time. Before circumstances yank him away again. Before he’s urged back to battle, Ardbert and that insistent voice in tandem whispering that they have not yet won.</p><p>The ascian, too, seems to sense it. He allows Altruoix to lead - to take his time with his exploration, allowing wandering arms to prod tender skin while kisses alight on his brow, in the space where his third eye had been, across eyelids and on the shells of his ears and into the silk of his hair. When Altruoix finally frees himself with an apologetic whine he’s pulled back for one final caress, hands cupping Altruoix's face and tracing where the planes of his face intersect with the pads of his fingers.</p><p><em> &lt;&lt;Always somewhere to be.&gt;&gt; </em>A million lives of regrets in the words. Hades's touch trembles against his skin.</p><p>Altruoix cannot claim to know true selflessness or heroics. He's wandered bereft of home, smothering his cruelty beneath good deeds under a false name in the hopes that he will someday be worthy of the praise and titles heaped upon him.</p><p>“Mmm.” Half hum, half sigh as he presses into the touch. “Another sinner needs me.” Elidibus, out in a storm of their own making, thrashing blindly in the dark.</p><p>A chance for someplace to come back to. Some<em> one. </em></p><p>
  <em> Home has always been of our own making. No place. Merely a state. </em>
</p><p>Wrinkles mar the perfect shape of Emet-Selch’s brow as it twists, the amber pools of his eyes aglow with worry.</p><p>"Gods, Hades.” Altruoix’s cheeks dust pink as he looks down, shyly. “Keep acting like that and I'll think you <em> actually </em> care." A brief pause, then, so soft as to near be whispered - "I'll bring him back."</p><p>Emet-Selch's incredulous snort ruffles his ashen locks.</p><p>
  <em> &lt;&lt;Foolishly romantic - and unreasonable. I had to pull you out the Rift. I doubt a broken thing such as you could manage it.&gt;&gt; </em>
</p><p>"Glad for the vote of confidence. But really." His head drops to Emet-Selch’s shoulder, savoring the petrichor and sandalwood that greets him when he presses his nose to his neck.<br/>He's saved one. What’s another?<br/>“You entrusted this to me. Are you suddenly wrong?”</p><p>No retort, this time. Altruoix supposes Emet-Selch knows better than anyone that he won’t be swayed from this path - and the man himself is far too stubborn to admit what his heart screams clear as day. <br/>It’s a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the slow sloshing of the Lifestream and the thrum of the soul in his embrace. And when Emet-Selch does deign to break it, well - that’s comfortable, too.</p><p>&lt;&lt;No.&gt;&gt; <br/>Never has a word said so much in such little breath. An eternity of grief and disappointment lifts just enough to see the sun beneath the blackened pall that has sat over Hades since the Sundering. <br/>A worthless world, filled with worthless things. But still had he fallen for this piece of a man - worthy of his heart even now.</p><p><em> You’ll do me proud, </em> the voice says as the world shifts, pale greens melting into the Tower’s electric blue. It carries the conviction of someone who’s absolutely right. <em> After all, we’re one in the same. </em></p><p>The snap that heralds his arrival makes Emet-Selch’s feelings clear.<br/>Azem is their hope. Now is their stand. <b> <em>This</em> </b> is the Convocation’s will.<br/>Altruoix rolls his shoulders, draws his katana, and prepares to make good on his word.</p><p> </p><p>Elidibus does not hold back this time, and by the end both of them have dredged the bottom of their power in a desperate bid to emerge the victor.<br/>It’s hard to tell which of them is worse for wear. Elidibus struggles to clamber to his feet, shield discarded, sword little more than a crutch. Altruoix remains standing, but just barely. Pinfeathers dot his bared hands, climb up his neck and chin, while a pair of wings drag behind - bereft of strength to lift them the muscles of his back spasm where they connect. </p><p>He’s won - for now. But gods, it was a near thing.</p><p>“Savor your rest,” Elidibus snarls, sinking to his knees. He’s still determined to fight, but the collected energies he’s siphoned from the tower wane. “Wherever you go, I will be there to blot out your darkness.”</p><p>Altruoix doesn’t immediately respond, only combing a hand shakily through hair loosened during their struggle. This moment of peace will not last. Beyond them both the world still clamors for salvation - a second wind for the Emissary all but assured. <br/>But what can he say, as they both slice their fingers bloody clinging to the knife's edge over oblivion? What can he do to clamber back up with Elidibus in hand?</p><p>"I know you don't want my sympathy," he grinds out between heaving breaths, "Nor my aid."</p><p>One step forward, then another. "Nor meaningless words from a creature who could not possibly understand."<br/>Killer turned savior. A far cry from what he once was, long ago. Yet more than ever determined to claw himself and his former brethren free from the fateweavers entrapping them both.</p><p>He makes it, somehow, to where Elidibus sits. Barely. He sways, the extra limbs exacerbating until he, too, can no longer keep himself up.</p><p>There's no finesse as he heavily drops to a seated position, legs curled beneath him. One hand presses to the ground, smearing blood across its crystalline surface as he shifts.</p><p>
  <em> What a ridiculous place for a final stand. Hope’s fighters atop the gleaming pinnacle. Stupidly on the nose. Can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same, though. </em>
</p><p>“Do all ascians have a flair for the dramatic, or something?” Altruoix quips.</p><p><em> Yes, yes. Just make light of the struggle. Surely </em> <b> <em>that </em> </b> <em> will help. </em></p><p>"...couldn’t help myself. Stupid of me to try and lighten the mood. But I'm so tired," he admits. "Of all of this."</p><p>His wings attempt to fold but only manage to drag themselves awkwardly around his form. Each shift has Altruoix's face twisting in whimpered pain.</p><p>"I once thought it would be my body to go, not my spirit. That was stupid too. Yet I cannot stop - I know not what else to do.”</p><p>How many years spent wandering? How many <em> lives </em> ? Revelations cast shadows much longer than his present stature would indicate. The trail of death he’s left stretches towards the dawn of time, only punctuated by brief rests where his own body lies.<br/>Is it the path of a hero? A villain?<br/><em> Who can say.  </em></p><p>“Nor can you stop. And even if there had been another way - a path of lesser tragedy, perhaps - we've forgotten it--"</p><p>"<em> You - </em> " Elidibus interjects, "Are nothing more than your Mother's puppet, wiping out those who <b> <em>saved this star</em> </b> in favor of, of <em> what </em>, precisely?”</p><p>He has to stop, briefly, to catch the breath that rattles in his borrowed chest. The hand still on the sword tightens. His next words are softer - no less angry but interwoven with exquisite pain.</p><p>“Eons of untold suffering as you <em> piss </em> on the graves of our brethren. Eons of the same fight again, and again. There is no <em> we </em> here, Warrior of Darkness. I remember quite well <em> enough </em>."</p><p>"Yet you do not remember," Altruoix murmurs, "What I said to you that night, as you watched me in the Crystarium. What you saw. What we both saw."<br/>“Irrelevant.” Elidibus squeezes his eyes shut. Turns slightly away.</p><p><em> It bothers him, you know. We were dear to him, once, too. Swept away, like so many grains of sand in the ocean’s roar. But the space lingers, a constant reminder turned yawning chasm in his soul.<br/></em> <em> When did the world become so cruel? Why did it happen to us? </em></p><p>“I don’t have an answer,” he says, full aware that Elidibus cannot hear the commentary running slipshod through his thoughts. “Flying by the seat of my pants, as usual. All I have is - well.”</p><p>Prayer still flows mighty through the tower’s call. No more time for words. He’s shit at them anyway, if he’s honest.</p><p>He digs into his pocket. Pulls out the satchel of memories inscribed upon stone.<br/><em> Hah. A show of good faith, then.  </em><br/>He drops the pouch at the ascian's feet. </p><p>"I was once told that a war waged without knowledge of the enemy wasn't a war at all."</p><p>Gloved hands stretched wide in offering - and challenge. A glib smile and biting commentary peel back like a curtain to reveal the truth of all things. Altruoix reaches for the man on the shattered stage. Their fingertips touch.<br/><em> She fairly gleamed. </em>  <br/>Infinite sorrows beneath lidded gaze. Deja vu so strong he wants to scream until his voice gives out. Bells tolling in his head. I know you I know you I know you.<br/><em> Wouldn't you wish for the same?<br/></em> Pleasure curls inside him, teasing, as he writhes beneath the lazy pressure. Hands at his back, stroking his spine. Hands at his front, wrapped around his base. <br/>Fuck. He wants it so bad that he's stopped checking for any smarmy reactions from Emet-Selch to respond to. After all, who was he kidding? No other reduces him to incoherence like this. His entire being pulled taut like a bow until grasped by him.<br/>He bucks into the dick inside him, meeting each thrust eagerly. Above him through the fog Emet-Selch is a sloppy, wanton mess, damp hair plastered across his sharp cheeks, clinging to plush lips.<br/><em> I am Hades. </em> There's a razor of light in his hand as he crests. It pierces through Emet-Selch's torso, night pouring from his kiss into Altruoix.<br/>He pushes harder. The blade goes further. It slips from Hades to himself, tearing his belly open.  <br/><em> Remember that we once lived.<br/></em> Nothing to give them but death yet there is only adoration in that molten gaze. Life's release fills Altruoix as his own is trapped between their cooling bodies.<br/><em> Long have I waited for one who might walk the path of lesser bloodshed. </em></p><p>Altruoix's tears are angry and hot against his skin. The anguish is unbecoming of him. Ugly. Ill-suited for what's meant to be Her unwavering champion, but he's so far strayed that the pounding in the back of his skull barely bothers. A blessing unwanted, cast to the side.<br/>“He was right.”<br/>What’s left of the fourteenth shudders.<br/>“I’ve been a terrible fool.”</p><p><em> Fate has made fools of us </em> <b> <em>all</em> </b> <em> . </em></p><p>“But I'm through with mere bloodletting, Elidibus.” He does not watch the reaction. Cannot bear to see the fury and pain that flashes at turns must be flashing across his face. <br/>“Please." <br/>Salvation for them both. </p><p>Pianist fingers pluck open the pouch, the stones ringing musical above the tower’s thrum as they shift. The rasped breaths quicken - surely he knew what they were before opening the pouch, but to see for himself? To hold them in his hands?</p><p>It is not fury that crosses the face of Elidibus, but curiosity. <em> Fear </em>.</p><p>Two stones capture his attention, though to Altruoix's eye they appear to glimmer all the same. The voice inside him is making a soft, knowing <em> Oh </em>.</p><p>The stones turn in his hands as he cradles them. The rest of the pouch's contents are hastily scooped into his lap.</p><p>"My friends."</p><p>Elidibus, finally, falls.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>&lt;&lt;I thought you were leaving.&gt;&gt; He’s careful to keep his tone neutral - though it fain seems to matter. Out of the corner of his eye he sees his observer flinch, and Elidibus wonders if the flatness of it hurts worse than Lahabrea’s rage or Emet-Selch’s resignation. <br/>But he accepts this, <em> Wants </em> this. That his friend is so quick to deny his choice still ignites a simmering resentment that he has no energy to quench.<br/>Azem - ah, no, he’s back to Euclid, now - has always known better. Has always had the answers. Cannot accept that, for once, he is <em> wrong </em>, and it throws how unfit he is to lead them now into stark relief.</p><p>Euclid draws up to where the Emissary stands at the roof’s edge. He’s careful to keep his distance. </p><p>&lt;&lt;I am. Not yet.&gt;&gt; He tries, and fails, to keep the bitterness from his own voice. <br/>It does not take their souls connecting to know what he thinks.<br/><em> You’re leaving us. You’re leaving </em> <b> <em>me.</em> </b>  <br/>Elidibus takes what comfort he can in the knowledge that <em> the feeling is mutual </em>.</p><p>&lt;&lt;Eager to be rid of me, are you? Well, it won’t be long. Just waiting for the winds to shift.&gt;&gt; <br/>At this, both Euclid’s head and his own turn towards where hazy smoke moves across the skyline. <br/>&lt;&lt;Can’t move them myself, anymore.&gt;&gt;</p><p>Hmm. So he is not immune to the weakness that plagues them. Elidibus is vindicated, even as his chest tightens in an attempt to contain the lurching of his heart.<br/>Euclid will die, his magics forsaking him as the land outside Amaurot is finally consumed.<br/>A foolish, tragic end, but Euclid is committed to this path. He can be no more moved than himself.<br/>Elidibus has not contemplated what this means for his own sacrifice. It hadn’t mattered. But now, troublingly, it comes to the forefront of his mind.</p><p>&lt;&lt;What do you expect to accomplish with this?&gt;&gt; the question slips out before he can stop himself. <em> Why will you not trust in your colleagues? Your friends?  </em></p><p>Something comes over Euclid, then - like Elidibus has told a very funny joke that only he understands. Whatever else he’d planned on saying is gone beneath a torrent of laughter, high and near-hysterical. It cuts through the hush that’s draped like a shroud across Amaurot, all the louder for its incongruence.<br/>&lt;&lt;I could ask you the same!&gt;&gt; He manages, in between wheezes. The glow from the city’s outskirts drenches his pale countenance in blood. &lt;&lt;What in creation are we <b> <em>doing</em> </b>?&gt;&gt;</p><p><em> We are saving the star. Saving our people. Making the difficult choice that enables us to </em> <b> <em>do so.<br/></em> </b>Elidibus realizes, belatedly, that his mask must have slipped when Euclid’s expression shifts swiftly to sorrow, then disappointment.</p><p>&lt;&lt;Oh.&gt;&gt; His turn, to be flat. &lt;&lt;You’re afraid I’ve gone mad. That the Sound’s wormed its way inside to compromise me.&gt;&gt;</p><p>Elidibus does not respond. Not yet. He can tell Euclid is at the edge of a meltdown. Can see it in how his face tightens in poorly repressed emotion, in how his nails carve little crescent holes into the stone of the railing. <br/>He <em> is </em> afraid - though not for himself.</p><p>&lt;&lt;Well, rest assured I’ve not gone mad. Not from that, at least.&gt;&gt; The lower half of Euclid’s lip rolls between his teeth. </p><p>&lt;&lt;It’s just--that is to say, Elatha, I…&gt;&gt; </p><p>Euclid’s lips are warm and soft and despite their thinness they fit over Elidibus’s <em> perfectly </em> as he closes the space between them. It’s less than a blip of contact in an eternity of twined yet chaste existence. Yet it turns everything on its head, here at the end. <br/>Elidibus doubts. Elatha <em> regrets </em>. The wind turns. </p><p>When Euclid pulls away to say goodbye, Elidibus grabs him by the robes and pulls him back in.</p><p><em> Not yet. </em>  <br/>If the man’s gone mad, then so has he. There's no place for selfishness in his station, but Elidibus cannot bring himself to feel guilty for it.<br/><em> Once more.<br/></em>The red illuminating them is not like that of blood, not anymore. It’s the dawn.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>Altruoix surfaces from the echo as a drowning man, propping himself up on his elbows from where he’s slipped forward while he gasps fruitlessly for air. It’s not unlike where he found himself just a short time before, and for a moment he wonders if he’d found himself back in the Rift - and by proxy, in Emet-Selch’s arms - again. <br/>The form beside him dispels any such notion. Elidibus, curled around the stones in his arms, lies bent forward on the floor beside him. All Altruoix can think of, as disoriented as he still is, is how strange it is to see the ascian cry. </p><p>There was nothing to be sad about. Their arguments no more than misunderstandings - easily reconciled, his own brashness never taken in offense. Elidibus soaks up his energy in bright reflection, tempers it with wise words. Sun begets moon begets sun and they cycle endlessly about the stars dyed in darkness.</p><p>“You-- we-- <b> <em>I--</em> </b>” </p><p>The Azem-That-Was, the Fragments-He-Is; like a thumb smudging fresh writing Altruoix feels himself blur with each new revelation.<br/>Only wiped clean would they have struggled thus. Even then, they still sought balance.<br/><em> He took us into himself, even after we passed from knowing, </em> the voice croaks. <em> And we fought for understanding even in futility.  </em></p><p>His touch is featherlight across gauntlets. Beneath the bright armor, beneath the clawed gauntlets and whisper of ornamental robes, beneath borrowed flesh and bone -</p><p> </p><p>"Elatha."</p><p> </p><p>Pale, glistening eyes meet a gold firm with conviction. Metal heavy with blessings presses to creaking leather, worn but steady and warm with the life pulsing within. The space between them fills with the name, discarded but found, found like <em> Azem </em> was found, and Elidibus gasps in shock and cautious, cautious hope that blooms beneath a sunspot--</p><p><br/>Suddenly, cold brightness. Blue. <em> Her Her Her Her Her. </em> He only has a moment to look Elatha in the eyes one last time before a spell blows them apart and away, hands newly emptied scrabbling at where the other had rested. <br/>The Exarch comes, but he has not seen what has occurred. He knows only an enemy that has usurped his place.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>"BREAK!"</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>There's a high, ringing noise, ugly with half screams and half sobs and all curses towards Nymeia. It takes Altruoix entirely too long to realize it comes from his lips. Elidibus is screaming, too - in rage and pain as he flings himself against the Exarch's power. But only one of them carries the royals' line, truly, and G'raha Tia wrests back his birthright.<br/>He comes to aid. He brings <em> betrayal. </em></p><p>Fighting fate is an abstract thing. Altruoix has only begun to grasp what it might mean after playing into its plans for so long; even when he thought he was free, so long ago, he'd done naught but fulfilled them.<br/>Fighting a person? <em> That </em> he knows all too well how to do.</p><p>Still, it takes all Altruoix's willpower not to mirror his opposite and batter himself at the wall of energy separating them. <em> Imprisoning </em> Elidibus.</p><p>G'raha, of course, has a grand speech prepared. <em> Don't we all. </em>  <br/>For all their differences - the confidence Azem holds that Altruoix lacks, bonds of loyalty hoarded where he pushes them fiercely away, a sheer force of self the Warrior of Light and Darkness spends just as much power vehemently denying--</p><p>On this they are perfectly aligned.</p><p>&lt;&lt;"The <b> <em>Arrogance.</em> </b>"&gt;&gt;</p><p>The reverberation of the chimes tears at his throat. Blood drips from his mouth, frames his neck and chin.</p><p>&lt;&lt;"To think <b> <em>you</em> </b> can lay claim to his life."&gt;&gt;</p><p>Surely his friend means to finally become the hero he's desperate to be. It's an earnest try at emulating - not unlike what Elidibus has played at for eons. Unfortunately, Altruoix and Azem both have had quite enough of this imitation game.</p><p>His inaction allows Elidibus to gather his wits and make a concerted effort at piercing the barrier that's meant to keep him long enough to be destroyed. He still has G'raha's vessel, and fights for control. Reduced again to a struggle of life and death, his unsundered existence on the line, darkness absolute seeps from below his feet, staining the floor's crystal violet and ensconcing the first Warrior in sweeping, abyssal wings that pierce easily through shimmering Allagan spellwork.</p><p>Elidibus calls. Zodiark answers. Sky-bright azure crawls across the Crystal Exarch, his efforts redoubled.<br/>All Altruoix can see is <em> red. </em></p><p>Fighting a primal? Had they forgotten who he <em> is? </em></p><p>Grabbing G'raha's staff is more necessity than choice. His reserves are so drained that he near <em> craves </em> the aether, and he drinks greedily heedless of the heat that begins to boil beneath his skin. It coalesces into bright points, slicing through armor and skin in sunbeam feathers, defiantly spreading with those already revealed in answer to the god that would dare to take the man he'd so recently freed.</p><p>G'raha sways on his feet. &lt;&lt;"<b> <em>Keep channeling</em> </b> ,"&gt;&gt; Altruoix snarls, fangs bared. G'raha pales, his pallor stark against the crystal creeping across his limbs, but nods. <br/>Their safety is an afterthought. Their <em> world </em> is an afterthought.</p><p>Shaping his newfound reserves to his will is laughably easy. The way is seared into his soul by his own god. She'd like nothing better than to bring it to bear - shattering yet another servant of darkness (<em> and the balance with it </em>, Azem adds, nastily.)</p><p>He's not doing it for Her. </p><p>The blade he crafts is razor thin - an impossible katana blazing with fractured-whole will. It turns his palms molten, dripping fractals of thought that spin outwards and upwards. Where they touch, the sky splits and within is a peek into the threads that web across all things - the curve of ley lines in miniature that pulse with the beat of <em> reality </em> and there, oh, there Altruoix sees through that sliver of space a loosening where looming dark meets man, crying for its succor from false god. And, underneath, he can see where the moon's pale light struggles to rise, feeble flutterings beneath Zodiark’s net.</p><p>Altruoix takes a breath. Steadies his stance. Waits until the silence between the hits of his beating heart aligns with the slack of the ties.</p><p>Then he <em> cuts </em>.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>His fingers card slowly, tentatively through delicate silver strands. </p><p>Like a pale, fluttering moth stained with dark and stuck with pins, the moon sits, crescent and low, in Altruoix’s lap. Its mantra, a name, over and over, murmured to ground it here. Now. <br/>Dead men. Alive men. <em> Free </em> men.</p><p>“Sorry.”<br/>A lie. He’s not sorry. Not really. He’d do it again.</p><p>A rasping cough. The tinkling of crystal. Life labored with an ailment that creeps within and without, the tower claiming its price at last.<br/>“I’ll admit,” G’raha Tia manages, after a moment, “I did not anticipate this outcome - though perhaps, given my <em> inspiration </em>, as it were - I should have.” Blue hands smooth cloth going stiff beneath them. He has little time.</p><p>“<em> Il ne faut pas se fier aux apparences. </em> I gambled your life to assuage my own ego. I do not expect any forgiveness, but I pray you will accept this outcome just the same.”<br/>With a rueful smile, he presses one finger to his lips.<br/>"And perhaps, now, we are even on secrets."</p><p>“Ah.” Understanding alights in his crimson gaze. “The ascians, then?”</p><p>"Technically dead, if you think about it.” With purpose wrest and names laid bare, neither Hades nor Elatha truly qualified as the villains they once were. “And if nobody knows that the <em> ancients </em> yet live, well, who are we to correct them?"</p><p><em> An impressive stretching of the truth, </em> Azem muses. <em> Emet-Selch will be proud.<br/></em>“An impressive stretching of the truth!” A slow clap, from the side of the Tower’s throne. “I must admit, despite conviction filled words I was not sure if you would manage to succeed. Consider me convinced.” </p><p>A pause. The whisper of robes. The man himself grinning, as he approaches with a wave.<br/>“And proud.”</p><p>Despite his lap’s burden, Altruoix moves. Elidibus clutched to his chest, he uses the last of his strength to get to his feet, grabs Emet-Selch by the cowl of his robe, and kisses him.<br/>Then, pulling away, he punches Emet-Selch as hard as a man who has just pulled a friend-cum-primal free from another primal can. </p><p>No one can tell if the blood on his face is from Altruoix’s wounds or if he’s actually managed to injure Emet-Selch. But it’s the thought that counts, and the look of pure murder on the Warrior’s face is enough to stop the ascian from immediately retorting.</p><p>“You fucking <b> <em>prick</em> </b> <em> . </em>I can remedy your survival still.” The words, regrettably, don't sound as intimidating as Altruoix hopes. He’s gulping air and Elidibus, bless his heart, is supporting his weight just as much as Altruoix supports his. “Don’t think you’re forgiven. For any of this.”</p><p><em> Does...is he shaken? He looks shaken. </em> Awe, from the ancient in his head. <em> Well done. </em>Eyes wide, a hand to his nose, Emet-Selch takes a step back, the performative edge in his voice receding. “You’ll need to elaborate, I’m afraid.” </p><p>“Don’t play dumb,” Altruoix hisses, “Because I’m <em> not. </em> The stones. The rescue. You <em> planned </em> this - gambled both Elidibus’s life, and mine. And now you're here to put on a show. Saving face in front of the 'enemy'. Kindly <em> fuck off </em> , before I <em> make </em> you."</p><p>The ascian’s expression hardens, then, surprise fleeing as his patience is finally tested. His focus flits between G'raha and Altruoix, as if weighing the cost of the facade over his well-being. But before he can respond, there’s a small noise - half wounded animal, half sigh, barely audible. Elidibus looks up, mask askew, head lolling back against Altruoix’s body.</p><p>“Hades,” he mumbles. Dazed and ragged, every ilm of his countenance pleads for peace. One hand shakily rubs at his face, darkening his white sleeves with tears and sweat. "The rains have ceased."</p><p>Both Warrior and Ascian react immediately, the former holding tighter while the latter bends down, hands carefully enveloping Elidibus's smaller ones.</p><p>"You need to rest." Less a request, more a demand. "Will you not listen to reason this once?" </p><p>"I do...what is required." Still, he allows himself to be tugged away from Altruoix, who lets him go with a stern nod and a half-threatening half-acquiescing fluffing of his wings. </p><p>
  <em> He'll take him home, too. Keep him safe from prying eyes. </em>
</p><p>"I'd tell you where to find us, but it would be a waste of breath." Emet-Selch lifts Elidibus up into his arms, careful not to jostle him too harshly as he turns.</p><p>"Am I to search every apartment in the city, then?"</p><p>"Do whatever it is you do, Hero. You'll think of something, I am sure." </p><p>One swift step. A second kiss stolen with a curled grin as Altruoix's eyes widen and hand grows heavy with a familiar burden.<br/>A slow inhale from the perpetrator, despite the danger. Rosemary. Ink. The iron tang of brief, burning <em> life </em> painted across the more of eternity. </p><p>"Might I suggest, though..." Touch alights on his back. Thin fingers press into knotted muscles - a comforting pressure mixed with a surge of magic. The unwieldy limbs on his back shudder, fold, and disperse. "That you take time to make yourself presentable."</p><p>Then, there’s the telltale drone of a portal, and both Hades and Elatha are gone. They leave just Altruoix, G'raha Tia, and an uncomfortable, pregnant silence in which the two stand, awkwardly, looking at the Azem stone in Altruoix's palm.</p><p>“Does he make you happy?” G’raha finally asks, softly. With effort he props himself up on his staff. Prepares himself. </p><p>“Do we <em> have </em> to discuss my love life right now?" Altruoix is trying his best to not look at him. He'd rather not think about how this is his fault. How he will have to pretend he is not the reason for yet another friend's death, temporary though it may be. How it being temporary hinges on everything going right, and when had that <em> ever </em> happened?<br/>(He prays it will, this time, with all he can still muster).</p><p>"...Ugh. Fine. I suppose I owe you that much, after all this.” Spying G'raha's discarded soul vessel, Altruoix scoops it up and hands it over with a huff. “He infuriates me. Spent over a year mourning him, only for him to show up and sweep me off my fucking feet <em> again </em> . I don’t know what my dick is <b> <em>thinking</em> </b>.”</p><p>“I see." G'raha frowns - part concentration, perhaps part consternation - and the vessel takes on a dull glow. <em> A crude, but ingenious plan. Not my specialty, regrettably, but I do think it will work. </em>  "Perhaps it is my old age speaking, but I cannot tell if that means Yes.” </p><p>“...Gods, G’raha, are you going to make me <em> spell it out </em> ?! I’ve never loved a man more in my godsdamned <em> life </em>. And I promised I wouldn’t ever get involved with someone again, not after Haurchefant.”</p><p>G’raha’s smile, for once, is only shy. “I’m glad. Truly. You, out of everyone, deserve happiness.”</p><p>“Don’t butter me up,” Altruoix mutters, watching the pulse of the vessel. He can't help but note it matches its owner's steadily slowing breathing. “You’re making me pour out my fucking guts, here, and don’t think for a minute I won’t find a way to shove you back in this thing and toss you down a well if you breathe a <em> word </em> of any of this.”</p><p>“A-aren’t you going to tell the others what’s occurred?” G’raha asks in response, tone steadily growing weaker with an edge of pain that's unmistakable. He's been taking this all pretty admirably, all things considered. It causes the guilt sitting leaden in Altruoix's gut tumbling uncomfortably - though he's sure it's nothing compared to the agony of limbs gone crystalline from the inside out (and that he can still talk. Still ask questions. Still wonder what Emet-Selch means to him, because he <em> cares </em>).</p><p><em> He chose to help you, </em> Azem reminds him. But <em> Altruoix </em> told him to not stop. To give of himself until there was nothing left to give all for a man who by all rights deserved death - even if only for mercy. The least Altruoix can do now is to support G'raha too. It would be so simple to reassure him, tell him not to worry - that all will be taken care of and revealed in time. That G'raha should just <em> be </em> , and look forward to when he and the scions re-awaken him on the Source.<br/>No more obfuscation. No more lies. Release from the bonds of Her duty and his past both.</p><p>Over the guilt, his side flares. Before Altruoix can stop himself his hand flies to it, half expecting to feel linen stuck to ragged flesh. To feel blood on his hands mingled with mud and rain and oh gods help him, it's not all his (it's never just his).</p><p><em> &lt;&lt;Calm yourself.&gt;&gt; That was long ago. </em> It doesn't matter. Hells take him and his weakness. The words, however empty, would be welcome. Easy. But he can't do it.<br/>G'raha's mask slips, beneath the raw fear of mortality staved off til the final hour. Altruoix's mask slips, scared killer turned savior he's become more obvious than ever in this singular choice, singular moment. <br/>It passes. It always does.<br/>Altruoix smiles, kindly in the way cyanide is kindly.<br/>“If you think I’m just going to <em> tell </em> the Scions who I am,” he says instead, tone light and sin-gold eyes gleaming dangerously, “Then you <em> really </em> do not know me well at all.” He pulls G’raha’s - no, the Exarch's - hood up, and closes his eyes just as the blue stone crawls up and over his face. “Goodbye for now.”</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>The journey down the endless stairs of the tower seems much longer than it was going up. Glancing at his satchel, precious cargo stashed safely within, Altruoix wonders if the Exarch would have used him as a glorified chocobo either way.</p><p>Even its slight weight is a hassle as the journey drags. When he reaches the next landing he stops, leaning on a pillar as he gives his aching legs a rest.</p><p><em> Keep moving, </em> Azem prompts, though Altruoix can tell the spectre, too, is exhausted. <em> Have to at least get out of here, and back to the others before you collapse. </em></p><p>“Dunno. I’ve slept worse places.”</p><p><em> Fine, then. </em> Petulant. <em> Expire here, after your hard won victory. See if I care. </em></p><p>“You’re worse than Ardbert.”</p><p><em>I’d hope so.</em> Pleased. <em>He was only 1/14th of me.</em> <em>Amateur hour.</em></p><p>“I can see why Emet-Selch was so fond of you. I guess he just attracts pricks.” Despite all of it, Altruoix is grinning ear to ear. “Let’s get this over with, then. We should be near to a teleporter in a flight - or few. Try not to talk over the entire conversation when we finally get out.”</p><p><em>Don’t flatter yourself. </em>It hesitates, before continuing, gentler. <em>Or, perhaps, do. You freed Elidibus - it stands to reason that you hardly need any guidance, let alone unsolicited advice from a failure like myself.</em> <em>But if you ever decide that you do, well...you need only ask, and I’ll do what I can.</em></p><p>Azem retreats, warmth lingering as he departs to somewhere-or-other. The space is filled with giddiness, a realization dawning like the sun that he is that</p><p>He'd <em> chosen </em> this. Truly.</p><p>"Just this once," he breathes, afraid to voice it aloud, lest the tower crumble or his knees shatter or some other act of the gods ruins all.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Just this once, everyone wins.</em> </b>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>6k of wringing blood from a stone all so i can get to a sex scene next chapter<br/>NOT SURE IF IT WAS WORTH</p><p>i hope it was worth. ty for reading ;;</p>
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